


Running The Play

by chel (sultrystarsk)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Car Sex, First Time, M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2018-12-23 08:39:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11986218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrystarsk/pseuds/chel
Summary: Several drabbles/short fics presented here as chapters, written a few years ago and published elsewhere. This set is based on pre-series Starsky & Hutch, as I see them (which isn't always through the same set of glasses, that is, I have no set head canon). Nancy/Vanessa makes an appearance or two.The usual disclaimer: I don't own 'em, just play with them, then put them back on the shelf. Literally. They're watching over me now.





	1. Running The Play

Another row with Nancy, another seedy downtown bar. One guy, sitting alone against a rear wall, seemed to be scanning customers as they entered. I took my beer for a walk.

“Ken. Friends call me Stretch.” I extended my hand; he didn’t take it.

“Stretch? On account of you being so skinny, or coz you ain’t circumcized?”

“Boy, you really cut to the chase, don’t you?” I asked. There was a flicker of menace in his eyes.

He shrugged and offered a chair. “Name’s Starsky. Sit there, so I can see the door and that table.”

“Why?” I hoped I wasn’t sitting with a hitman.

“Those guys come into my… let’s just say they run drugs across the border in used cars. If a Mexican turns up in fifteen minutes, there’s a shipment on. If not, they’re just having a social get-together. Like us. Why ‘Stretch’?”

“Taller than the other kids in school, I guess.” He nodded. “What will you do if this Mexican turns up? You a cop?”

He swallowed half his beer before answering, “No, but I know someone who is, and I might phone him.” We were comfortably silent a few minutes. “So, Stretch, I bet you played football in high school.” *

I nearly choked on my peanuts. Did this tough-guy know that’s a gay pick-up line? I ventured, “Sure. I played both ends. How ‘bout you?”

He looked down at his glass, tracing a line of condensation. “Same. Of course, we played a lot in ‘Nam; nothing else to do, ya know?” He looked up through hooded eyelids then, and suddenly he wasn’t a tough-guy, but a man in a world of pain.

I figured fifteen minutes was about up. “No Mexican?”

He glanced at the table, then the door. “Nah. Let’s get outta here.”

 

*this line was used to pick up John Blaine in DIADP; coincidentally a week or so after I watched the DVD, a work colleague told me it’s a common gay male pick-up line (and someone had just used it on him)


	2. Running Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Directly follows "Running the Play" (not all of these chapters will).

My senses were assaulted by the smog and stale urine, drum beats and wailing saxophones as Starsky and I left the bar. “Your place or mine?” I quipped. He started down a side alley. “No way. No way am I doing this down there.”

"Hey, don’t knock it. You can learn a lot about the world down here, about _people_.”

“What about your car?”

“What about my car? I walked.” He shoved his hands in his Army jacket pockets.

_Of course you did_ , I thought.

“What about _your_ car. You obviously drove here.” _Obviously._ He was evaluating me, just as I was him.

I sighed. Nancy would kill me if I spoiled the upholstery. Nancy. “Yeah. It’s two blocks east.”

Two blocks was a long walk with a hard-on. We should have used the alley.

When we finally got to the car, he opened the back door and laughed. “And you were worried about doin’ it in the streets? Man, this is a tip!” He slammed the door shut and checked out the front seat instead, before letting himself in.

“Nice wheels, Stretch. In need of a little TLC, some mags, a bit of paintwork… No doubt some work under the hood, if I’m any judge of character, but… nice.” He ran an approving hand along the dash. Nancy would appreciate her car being handled so lovingly.

“Anybody ever tell you you talk a lot? Move over; driver’s side’s mine.” I’d never had so much conversation with a guy I was going to do. He was like a mystery novel: I just had to keep turning the pages. And I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Short-cropped dark hair, mesmerizing gaze, athletic build.

Starsky sat cross-legged opposite me, while my right leg was bent up and resting against the back of the seat, my other foot kneading his crotch.

“What brings a pretty college boy like you down to a neighborhood like this?” He gestured spirals in the air.

“Just looking for some cock, pal.” A push upward on his dick forced a sudden intake of breath. It was part punishment for his use of the ‘pretty boy’ tag.

“Not here. Drive about five blocks south; there’s an empty lot. I’ll show you where.”

I took the car off the road where he told me, behind some bushes. After taking a leak out of sight, we made ourselves comfortable in the front seat, on top of Starsky’s jacket.

“’s that really yours, or did you buy it at the Disposals store?”

“Haven’t you heard? There’s a war on. Been there, done that.”

“What’s the matter? You come home coz you ran out of babies to kill?” I half-joked. Quick as a rattler, his face was an inch from mine and I couldn’t breathe; his hand on my throat.

“Don’t you ever, ever joke, or make accusations about shit you don’t understand. Got it?”

I nodded once. He let go just enough for me to gasp some air. I kicked into his chest, flattening him across the seat, then lay over him. “And don’t _you_ ever pull a move like that on me again.”

We wrestled a bit, I pinned his arms over his head, then kissed him hard. He was fighting, and our teeth clashed. Finally he stilled, then kissed me back.

I put my left hand over his bulging mound and pressed. “Are we going to do this? Because I’m about ready to eat.”

He was breathing hard--we both were--so we clumsily unzipped each other’s flies, sitting up a little and banging heads. Both our cocks jutted forward, finally free. I scooted back and bent forward to lean over him, hungry to finally eat this man I’d waited for what must be more than two hours to devour.

I got him all wet, teasing him through his underwear, nudging his balls, before he finally lifted off the car seat and pulled his pants down. I took them past his knees and he stepped one foot out. Not all guys want to be finger-fucked, but his eyes softened when I tested his interest, so I kept it going while I licked and sucked him off. Instead of the usual hair-grabbing, he was gentle and loving with me as he came, warning me first, so I could pull away. I swallowed him all down, hard, and he came… hard.

He stopped breathing for a moment, then breathlessly asked, “Oh, God. Where does a married man learn to give head like that?”

“How do you know I’m…?” My ring. Damn. I’d left my ring on.

Starsky laughed gently. “Gimme a minute to recover, then it’s your turn. Man, that was good.” He put one hand on the side of my head, leaned up and kissed me. Some meaningless fuck this had turned out to be.

_Lights. I saw lights._ “What was that?”

“Fireworks,” he answered, languidly.

“Flashlight! Get dressed!” Someone was in the empty lot, either checking us out, or walking through.

“Here, take these.” I hurriedly gave Starsky a notebook and pencil from the glove compartment, and grabbed the nearest book I could find--a Bible.

Someone rapped on the window. It wasn’t until I wound it down that I noticed all the windows were fogged. The ‘someone’ was a police officer. I tried to bluff him that we were conducting Bible study in the only place a Jew and Lutheran could find, without bigotry. He may or may not have believed us, but he left.

Snapping The Good Book closed, I muttered, “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

We burst out laughing. When we quietened down, we looked at each other for a long moment, before leaning in and touching foreheads. I ran my hand down his arm. He shuddered.

“That was close,” he said, before cupping my crotch in his hand. “Do you wanna…?”

“No. I should go home.”

“Okay.” He backed away from our touch, and seemed so disappointed, it was heartbreaking.

“Maybe we could… This drug smuggling ring--over the border--how do you know about it?”

“Couldn’t say.”

“What if we… Mind if I sit with you next time they meet?”

“That’d be terrific. They meet every Wednesday and Thursday, if there’s gonna be a shipment or not. Shipments are on Fridays. When there is one.”

He had me hooked. “I’ll do my best. Commitments, y’know? Surname’s Hutchinson, by the way.”

“Hutchinson. Good. If we’re gonna hang around together, Starsky and Stretch don’t really work. Hutch is much better. Starsky and Hutch.” He let the names linger on the air.

“Or Hutch and Starsky.” I threw in for good measure.

He nodded his approval, grabbed his jacket, gave my crotch an apologetic rub and my face a gentle slap, then said, “See ya ‘round like a record, Hutchinson.” He backed out of the passenger door.

“Not if I see you first,” I teased. Then, “I’ll be there. Sometime.”

“You better. I owe you one, remember?” He winked and mock saluted me ‘good-bye.’

I wound down the window, started up the car and drove back to my loveless wife. The breeze ruffled my hair, the lights drifted past at a steady pace, and some heady jazz music played on the radio. Life was good.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHS

In three weeks, I start at the Academy. Police cadet: the start of a new career on The Force. I didn’t ask what Starsky does for a living; I must find out next time we meet.


	3. Reporting In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't go home smelling like your lover...

“What was his name? Or didn’t he have one?”

Striding past her toward the kitchen, I offered, “Do you want some coffee?”

“Evasion, Ken; how shrewd.”

“What do you want from me, Nancy? A dot-point report?”

“How about a _blow-by-blow_ narrative?”

“You’re crass, y’know that? Kick me out, reel me in, give me the third degree… What do you care?”

“I care, Ken.” She pouted, twirling her long, brown hair ‘round her finger, sucking on it seductively. “I push you to take what you need, because I care.”

“I’m not interested in your games, Nancy. I’ll sleep on the couch.”


	4. Your Classic 69

“Just what is it, exactly? Aside from peacock blue.”

“This, my friend, is destined to be a motoring classic. A ‘69 Chevrolet Camaro ZL1 V-8 Super Sports, with Turbo Hydra-matic, cowl hood… Are you listening to me?”

“Sure, Starsk. Something about a cow on the hood. My grandfather had one of those…” 

“On the farm. Right. 

“What about this one instead, Starsk? Something straight off the 1974 showroom floor. Don’t look at me like that.”

“It’s brown.”

“So? It’s chocolate brown – what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. Inside a candy bar wrapper. Hutch, it’s a family car, not a guy’s car.”

“Listen, it’s within your price range, it’s practical enough to use for work…”

“Brown, Hutch.”

“…it’s got more room in the back, a bigger trunk…”

“Brown.”

“I’m sure you could do something with it. Get it painted or something.”

“It’s still brown,” Starsky yelled over his shoulder.

“Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you! Damn, that’s rude. Starsky, you need a new car before we start back on Thursday, Al has this one ready to go, and that ridiculous blue Camaro is not, I repeat not an undercover police car! For God’s sake, will you just buy the thing?”

Starsky stopped, turned, and snapped his fingers. A look of genius came over his face. “I got it. Al knows this guy. I can see it now, ” he swept his hands through the air like an artiste. “Red. Yeah, I’ll paint her red. Maybe with something flashy down the sides.”

Hutch groaned.

Starsky patted him on the back. “Thanks pal. Forget the ’69, I’m gonna buy this Torino.”

**Author's Note:**

> *this line was used to pick up John Blaine in DIADP; coincidentally a week or so after I watched the DVD, a work colleague told me it’s a common gay male pick-up line (and someone had just used it on him)


End file.
